


It's Inevitable That You Will

by screaminginternally



Series: A Pathological Need to Invent Drama [7]
Category: The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: (it's fake in that the people get married w/o actually being in a relationship), AKA this movie could've been resolved within the first hour by marrying these idiots to EACH OTHER, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Rival Political Pawns to Lovers, Sexual Tension, fake marriage to real marriage, you KNOW they wouldn't have been mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screaminginternally/pseuds/screaminginternally
Summary: Mia and Nicholas decide to go with the simplest option to resolve the plot of Princess Diaries 2 before she ascends to the throne. There's a wedding involved.(There should be a Facebook relationship option for 'In Cahoots With'. 'Married, but also in Cahoots', maybe.)
Relationships: Nicholas Devereaux/Mia Thermopolis
Series: A Pathological Need to Invent Drama [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1368514
Comments: 42
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a longshot oneshot fic, but I am a Dumb Idiot who clearly cannot keep up the momentum long enough to write any of that, so instead I have to post one chapter as a threat to myself to write the rest of the story.
> 
> Slight tweaking to the movie timeline, because I started writing this before I rewatched the movie, but – Nicholas comes to stay at the palace before the scene where Parliament digs up the marriage rule. Why? I don’t know. Just go with it. I wrote this instead of focusing on my university assignments. 
> 
> This was prompted by reminding myself of the ridiculous UST between these two during the movie, and also thinking that there was a really simple solution for that – and that in canon, let’s face it: they wouldn’t have minded having a marriage arranged between themselves. At All.
> 
> Title from a quote in Nicola Yoon’s The Sun is Also a Star.

Mia wanted to _scream_ with rage. She wanted to throw something, kick, yell, put her fist through a wall. How could they? How could they think that they deserved that much input in her life? They’d given her two weeks to make a decision to claim her birthright when she was sixteen, how _dare_ they move the goalposts?! Mia’s just given the last five years of her life dedicated to one day rule Genovia - studying and practicing, giving up any scholastic opportunities to branch out, pulling away from high school and college boys she felt chemistry with, all to be the queen Genovia needed her to be, and now, NOW, Parliament was going to cut off her life?

_How dare they?_

Mia could only let herself storm through the palace gardens, knowing that the hedges and walls would keep most anyone from bearing witness to her thoroughly un-princessy tantrum. Yes, she was reacting badly, yes it was immature, yes, if anyone from Parliament saw her now, they wouldn’t think twice about the rule they’d enacted.

Let her have this anyway, okay?

She’s twenty-one, she’s not supposed to have her Grandma’s dignity and grace (yet); she should be allowed to be a mess sometimes – back at Princeton, she’d had some classmates show up being full right messes – same clothes days in a row, pyjamas with shoes and a coat thrown on top, clearly haven’t showered, whatever. One time a boy turned up in wearing a pair of boxer shorts, no pants, a hoodie without a shirt underneath, with a paper bowl of cereal to eat during class. It was a 3pm class.

Mia is far from the most undignified twenty-one year old, is the point. She’s allowed to lose her temper.

So, she’s sitting down on a garden bench, reminding herself to breathe and not scream, and – and –

And there’s this ridiculous whistling coming her way. She knows that whistling. Is he following her? Seriously?

Mia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying desperately to stave off a headache. It wasn’t going to work, because that was just Mia’s luck, but surely hoping and dreaming could have some kind of effect, right? _Right?_

Lord Devereaux’s handsome face came around the corner bend, and he didn’t look one iota surprised to see Mia where she was. Following her. Called it.

Lord Devereaux leaned a hip against the statue next to Mia’s seat. “You seem like you’re having a bad day.” His tone is placid, like he’s commenting on the weather, but there’s a tone beneath the calm – a kind of smug, I-know-what-you’re-upset-about air.

Mia snorts. “Where you listening in on the Parliament session too?”

Lord Devereaux raised his eyebrows. “I was sitting in. Where were you?”

“Listening in.” If he didn’t know about the back pathways to eavesdrop on the Parliament room, Mia wasn’t about to tell him.

“Any opinions to share about our new news?” Lord Devereaux had a polite, almost disinterested tone – but Mia could see straight through it. But she wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say. She couldn’t simply burst out her anger for the nonsense that Parliament had set out, because frankly, she doesn’t know Devereaux at all. She doesn’t trust him.

“What do you think my opinion is?” Her tone was very waspish. If Devereaux was someone likely to go running to tabloids, Mia’s public persona was going to be ripped to pieces.

“Ecstatic happiness,” Lord Devereaux imitated Mia’s waspish tone, his words dripping sarcasm.

Mia glared at him, her brown eyes boiling with a rage that, admittedly, she was hiding rather well before she spoke.

But Mia didn’t want to hide her rage, she wanted to make it explode and wash away all the horseshit that Parliament – especially that snake, Lord Mabrey – was trying to dump on her. “Are you trying to get me to order your death?”

“I’m fairly certain that isn’t legal, Princess.” Lord Devereaux had returned to his polite-but-mocking tone.

“I have guards. We’re on the private property area of the Palace. Joe wanted to have you hung by your toes in the courtyard. He’d do it.”

For some reason, that brought a smile to Devereaux’s face. “How about we discuss this situation like adults, hm?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, instead sitting on Mia’s bench – he put a fair distance between them, almost smushing his body against the railing, and crossing his legs at the knee, like he was trying to wrap his body as tightly as possibly against himself – like he was trying to say _I Know I’m Invading Some of Your Space, But Look How Little of It I’m Taking Up_. “So.” He said, “you need a husband to be queen. Rather archaic a rule, don’t you think?”

  
Mia felt her anger slide away like bubbles in a boiling pot taken off the heat. “Well, _yeah_ ,” she huffed out. “And should I not want to marry, then the next heir to Genovia – namely, _you_ – takes the throne that I’ve spent the last six years prepping for.”

“Mm.” Devereaux nodded. “And me with no actual desire to take that throne.” He and Mia locked gazes. His eyes were very blue. “Well, there’s only one thing for it, I guess.”

Mia felt a little off-kilter at Devereaux’s flippant tone – as well as his quick-changing gears in this conversation. How did he do that?

“Which is?” she asked.

“You marry me, then.”

Mia took a moment to try to wrap her head around what he’s just said.

“What?”

“You marry me; I’m the other heir, I don’t want the job, but you need to be married to have the job, which is truly ridiculous. Marry me. You fulfill the nonsense role the Parliament expects of you, I get out from under my uncle’s thumb, it’s a win-win situation.” Devereaux . . . he spoke seriously, and his eyes read so sincere. But Mia . . . she didn’t want to trust him just yet.

“You want to be King that badly, huh?”

“Prince consort. Like Prince Phillip. You run the country, I stand at your side during public functions and look pretty. Face it, Mia. Your other option is that you find someone to date and marry in the next . . . what is it, thirty days? Look, if we end up utterly despising one another, we’ll just divorce next year. You’ll be queen by then, Parliament wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

Mia gnawed on her bottom lip. He made good points but . . . Mia didn’t even want to consider it, given her mood. “Let me think about it.”

;;

Mia approached his rooms, feeling her heart thump against her chest. It wasn’t too late to turn around, cling to her pride but . . . she didn’t want to go through the public embarrassment of having to find an arranged husband. This allowed her to save face. This would let her live her life, her crown intact. They’d be on the same page.

Devereaux was only half dressed for the day, when Mia walked in without knocking. It was her palace, she’d not-knock if she wanted to.

He was surprised to see her, clearly, what with the deer-in-headlights expression, and the dropped shirt on the floor, and the undone belt looped through his pants, and . . . okay Mia’s not blind, alright? The guy is ridiculously handsome. He knows it, too, the fucker.

It takes Mia a couple seconds to recover herself, which is good, because Lord Devereaux doesn’t seem to have caught up so quickly. “Lord Nicholas.”

That jolts him, his eyes blinking hard like he’s trying to shake a fog from them. When he opens his eyes, they immediately locking with hers. “Princess?”

“I’ve thought about your suggestion, and-“ Mia’s breath catches in her throat. Come on, get the words out. “And I would hope you would have a ring.”

His face does some rather interesting things then, a weird mix of shock, bafflement, and a small – small, but there – kind of smugness that leeches away into something that Mia would call ernest happiness, if she was stupid. Which she’s not, thank you.

“I’m afraid I don’t have it here at the Palace with me, Princess. I’ll have to go get it.”

“See you do.” Mia turned on her heel, striding out of the room.

She did it to look good, but also because she needed a minute to keep herself from hyperventilating.

God. GOD. She just did that. She agreed to marry the guy trying to steal her throne, to keep him from stealing her throne – even though he doesn’t want it apparently?

What’s wrong with her? This wasn’t who she was, five years ago. Mia in San Francisco would’ve NEVER agreed to do what she just did! She’d wanted love – she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted to get married, her hopeless mooning over Josh Bryant aside, she’d seen how her mum spoke about her marriage to Mia’s dad, and how it’s been great, but then hard, but then so difficult that divorce seemed like the only option that Helen could’ve been happy; Mia’s always thought she’d either fall in love and get married, or she’d stay single and find happiness that way.

Arranged marriages are supposed to be things from history, or her romance novels she consumed by the fistful at age fourteen – not her LIFE!

Yeah, fine whatever – she’s the one arranging her own marriage out of sheer pragmatism; that doesn’t mean she’d ever lost the idea of marrying for love.

Her parents did it, so even though it didn’t work out, it clearly wasn’t impossible. Grandma . . . okay, Grandma and Grandpa clearly didn’t, if the nicest thing Grandma was ever able to say was that her husband was her dearest friend, but not her dearest lover. Mia’s pretty sure their marriage was arranged, actually.

But Devereaux wasn’t even her friend! He was - - he was her enemy! And yeah, sure, keep your enemies close was a theory, but keeping them so close they’re in your bed? Yeah, Mia would prefer to PASS on that particular option.

Lord Nicholas Deveraux, whose paternal great uncle married Mia’s great-great aunt, whose union had one child who died young, and that somehow made Nicholas Deveraux the next King of Genovia? How spread thin was the Renaldo family?

Okay, fine, Mia knew that it was because of the death of Grandpa Rupert’s only unmarried, childless brother in the 50’s meant that the Renaldo line was actually spread extremely thin, and Parliament passed a law stating that should the House of Renaldo result in no viable heir, then Parliament would comb back through the Renaldo family tree to find either the families the Renaldo’s married into, or the next eldest family in Genovia of noble blood would inherit – which is why the Von Trokens have been giving her dirty looks since she was fifteen.

So because of her Grandpa’s aunt’s bad taste in men, Mia is stuck getting married to an odious man to keep him from stealing her crown!

Fine. She isn’t trapped into this situation. She’s trapped herself into this situation, thanks to the Parliament’s stupid edicts. And sexism. Mostly Parliament’s sexism – her dad had already married and divorced her mother by the time _he_ ascended to the throne, yet _Phillipe_ Renaldo hadn’t been forced to marry someone. Oh no. _Amelia_ Renaldo was clearly the one incapable of ruling alone, with her womanly mind and lady-body, and clearly could not be left to run her country without the help of a husband, never mind that her own _grandmother_ has been doing an excellent job for the last eight years.

Mia, finally back in her own rooms, flopped down onto the seatee nearest to her, rubbing her temples to stave off the headache she could feel coming on.

Something told her she was going to have a headache for the next month straight, probably.

;;

Nicholas got dressed in a daze – had that actually happened? Or had the steam from his shower baked his brain to the point of hallucination?

It took two cups of tea for it to sink in – yes, that had actually happened, yes, Princess Mia had accepted his proposal, no, that wasn’t a hallucination, hey, maybe at some point you should go home and get your mother’s engagement ring.

Honestly, he hadn’t thought there would ever be a purpose for it, for him. He hadn’t ever really considered he’s actually get married, or if he did, he’d just buy a ring for the girl in question, rather than pass along his mother’s ring, which had been his grandmother’s, and his great-grandmother’s, and had been in his family back to his great-something-grandmother, who had been a cousin to the mother of the last King of the French, Louise Marie Adelaide de Bourbon-Penthievre. Nicholas had figured the ring would stay in the house vault with the rest of his mother’s jewellery. It wasn’t as if there was another woman in the Deveraux family who would claim it. And Uncle certainly wouldn’t entertain the idea of letting any of the antique jewels do anything besides stay so close to his possession.

Kind of like Nicholas himself. Of course, over his adulthood he’d been granted his own freedom, but always with the stipulation that Nick return ‘home’ to his uncle, who would then look over a report of Nick’s actions and pasttimes while he was away, a critical eye over whatever it had been Nick had done that didn’t fit his Uncle’s preferred actions that Nick could take without criticism.

Which was why Nick knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Nick told his Uncle about his arrangement with the Princess . . . Uncle hadn’t been physical in years, but if there was ever a time . .

He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get that ring, make sure the Princess and he were on completely the same page, and then get that ring of Princess Mia’s finger. Then he’d be safe. She’d be safe.

And his Uncle would be able to bluster and shout and storm as much as he wanted, but ultimately nothing would come of it.

;;

He’d been invited to be a guest at the Palace, and – this is the important bit – guests are allowed to leave. Sure, Nick needed to requisition a car, which then came with a driver, because simply loaning out one of the Palace’s own vehicles wasn’t something the security was going to allow any time soon.

Coming up the driveway to his Uncle’s house wasn’t an odd feeling – being a passenger in the car was.

The driver hadn’t said much of anything, but Nick could feel the man’s eyes on him as he walked up to the front door. It was unlocked, as per normal, because Gretchen was still in residence. She wasn’t paid to leave the house, really, given that Uncle never really left the house, so poor Gretchen had to tolerate the man every day.

He greeted her from the hallway, and she called back, but didn’t approach. She was used to Nick and his Uncle coming and going.

Going into the room where his father’s family antiques were kept _did_ feel like he was trespassing somewhere he shouldn’t.

He’d rarely gone in there, since his mother’s death four years ago. Well, almost longer, actually. Since his mother left for Milan, and gave full custody of Nick to his Uncle when he was fourteen, completely removing herself from having parental rights over her son.

The sting from that abandonment had faded over the last decade, but he’d be lying to say he didn’t still feel something about it all.

Nick hadn’t thought about his mother since the anniversary of her death last November. Being surrounded by the remains of his parents lives felt like he was standing in a hall of ghosts.

He pushed past it all, going to the locked shelf where his grandmother’s ring was kept in a ring box. Gently lifting it out, Nick opened the lid and inspected the ring. Flawless. Undamaged by time. It seemed the right size for Mia’s finger, too, which was a relief. Nothing more embarrassing than proposing to a girl and not having the ring fit.

;;

“Why am I here, Nicholas?” Mia asked – no, she wasn’t _whining_ , princesses don’t _whine_ – as Lord Nicholas led her by the hand through the Palace gardens. It wasn’t a maze set up – that was the decorative one on the east side, and even then it only came up to a person’s knees – but it was full of twists and turns and covered on all sides by walls of roses and other flowers, like a fantasy garden from a children’s story book.

“Because I need to talk to you, and I’d like privacy to do it.”

“So you brought me outside, where anyone can pass by and hear our voices? Good plan.” Mia’s voice dripped with sarcasm. The only response she got was a huff of a breath she was pretty sure doubled as a sigh.

Finally, they stopped moving, coming to a halt in an open area in the garden, with a couple stone fountains and some benches to sit on. All very picturesque. Mia frowned. “If you’re going to say something stupid, I’m pushing you into that fountain over there.”

He gave a bit of a laugh, like he didn’t get that Mia was being completely serious. She was. “Mia,” Lord Nicholas said, “the only way what I’m about to say will be stupid is if you changed your mind.”

Oh. This was about that.

“I haven’t changed my mind.” Her voice didn’t wobble the way it did when she wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. Her voice was calm and steady.

“Yeah, well. I wanted to actually discuss it all with you, seriously.”

She knew it – that initial proposal was a spur of the moment one. He really hadn’t thought it through that first time. “Okay,” she said. She sat on the garden seat, crossing one leg over the other – yes, it’s a big no-no for royal etiquette, but Mia isn’t in the mood to care. She patted the space next to her. “Then sit. And we’ll talk.”

Lord Nicholas sat, looking for all the world like this was a normal situation to be in. Although –he deep exhale he made put the thought into Mia’s head that he was nervous. He was fiddling with something small in his hands.

“Mia,” He began, before faltering, “ _Princess_ Mia, I know you don’t like me. You don’t need to, I wouldn’t think. I don’t need everyone I encounter to like me. But. You have a need to get married, and I have a need to no longer rely solely on my Uncle’s patronage and goodwill. So. I – I think we may be able to help each other. Parliament only requires you to be married before you ascend the throne – there’s nothing in there about needing to remain married after. I checked. So – so, would you, consider marrying me. Someone who doesn’t expect love, and is completely okay with being a business partner?”

Mia sat, gaping a little at the little speech. It took a mental reminder that she really shouldn’t make a bitchy comment at his self-deprecation – he was clearly being completely honest with her. “That’s your best proposal – let’s get married like this is essentially a business merger?”

That got a bit of a smile from him. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “Yeah. Princess Mia Thermopalis Renaldo, would you like to marry me, not out of love, or even like, but sheer political pragmatism?”

Mia laughed a little too – and then Devereaux held out the thing in his hands. It was a tiny box. _Oh_. Mia wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was feeling, but when she saw that ring – clearly antique, clearly cared for over time, a gold band with a single oval diamond, surrounded by the tiniest pearls, with little engraved carvings spooling out from the diamond onto the band, simple and elegant and totally to Mia’s tastes somehow – all she could feel was . . .

_Do this. Say yes._

It wasn’t affection. It was a deep, clear calm, akin to the beautiful pure blue colour of NicholasDevereaux’s eyes.

Mia gave him a smile – small, a little faltering – and took the ring.

;;

Of course, since Mia hadn’t mentioned any of this to her grandmother AT ALL, the reaction she got when she walked in to her grandma’s office with a guy she’d professed to hate . . . raised some eyebrows.

Well. Grandma’s, Charlotte’s, and the rest of the staff. Joe just kind of frowned. But confusion was palpable in the whole energy in the room, with everyone being as utterly thrown as Mia had been when Parliament had made the decision. At least now everyone knew how she felt.

“I’m sorry, Amelia,” Grandma began slowly, “but could you please repeat that sentence, again?”

Mia took a breath. “We don’t need to worry about Parliament’s rule anymore. Lord Devereaux and I are engaged.”

Grandma’s face stayed mostly the same, an air of surprise, watching Mia’s face like she was trying to figure out the logic behind this sentence, like Mia wasn’t making sense instead of speaking in clear plain English. 

Grandma stood up from behind her desk, walking slowly off to the right, quietly stating, “Amelia, Lord Devereaux, would you follow me, please?”

Grandma didn’t wait for an answer, instead walking out of the office and leaving the door open. Mia and Nicholas followed Clarisse to wherever she was going, leaving the confused gazes behind, Joe’s stare drilling into the back of Nicholas’ head like this whole situation was something he was going to hold the whole event as Nicholas’ fault entirely. Then again, Nicholas and Mia were holding hands, like that was all the proof needed to provide evidence of a relationship. Well. It counts when you’re thirteen.

In the room that her Grandma had – Mia didn’t want to think _escape_ , but yeah, it kinda fit – that her Grandma had _escaped_ into, Nick shut the door behind them as they went. He looked at Mia, with a sort of _would you prefer I go somewhere else?_ expression. Mia shook her head, and wondered when she’d gotten so good at reading his expressions.

Grandma was staring out the window, her back to Mia. She heard the Queen take a breath. “I’m trying to decide if I’d rather this be a joke.”

“It’s not,” Mia said quietly.

Grandma spun around to face them. “Explain.”

Mia sucked in her lips over her teeth, flicking a glance at Lord Nicholas.

“Mia needs to get married,” Nicholas said, attracting Clarisse’s gaze from where it had been pinned to Mia, “and I have a need to become independent of my Uncle.” Mia wasn’t sure, but it seemed like something passed between her Grandma and Lord Nicholas when he spoke of his Uncle. Mia didn’t know much about the man, but she was getting that there was a lot underneath the surface. And none of it was likely to be good. “Parliament won’t allow Mia to be queen without being married, and I am next in line for the throne. Personally, Your Majesty, I – I think I’d be competent at the job, but I don’t actually want the job. Mia does, and it’s unfair that Parliament should make such a demand of her as a prerequisite. The two of us getting married resolves the issue.”

Clarisse’s expression had become softer from the stony mask it had been, to the point it was tinged with some – not pride, but acceptance. Clarisse wasn’t happy with Mia’s choice, but she didn’t hate it. She said as much. “Mia, if you’re sure this is what you want-“

Mia cut in, “This will let me keep the crown, Grandma. Parliament can’t fight this – we’re adults. We can make these choices, and they can’t railroad us on this. We checked. We want this.”

Clarisse nodded. “If you’re sure, I will endorse this match, as publicly as it need be.”

Mia the muscles in her back relax – she hadn’t realised just how tense she’d been. Her Grandma asked Lord Nicholas to leave them, and when he shut the door behind him, Grandma dropped her Queen Mask entirely, striding over to wrap Mia into a tight hug. Clarisse smelled faintly of lavender and a sweet perfume.

Clarisse pulled away, holding Mia’s hands, and asked, “Mia . . . I don’t want you to feel pressured into this situation. I’m sure we can convince Parliament to overturn Lord Mabrey’s argument – especially since his argument is based on his nephew, who, well –“

“Who’s now engaged to me? Yeah, Grandma, Mabrey probably would backtrack, but – he’d try something like this again, don’t you think?” Clarisse nodded. “Exactly. Besides, this way, Parliament gets what they want – I’m married, I get crowned, the whole shebang. Nicholas and I are on the same page here. This isn’t desperation, Grandma – okay, it is, but . . It’s calculated desperation, I guess. We know what we’re doing. We’re in cahoots. We’re _cahooting_.”

That got a bit of a laugh out of Clarisse, and Mia smiled at the sight, feeling some more of the tension leave her shoulders.

;;

The hallways didn’t quite manage to echo; the walls were edged with portraits and tapestries and pieces of artwork – fortunately, the suits of armour were solely relegated in another wing. Sometimes looking at them just felt a little tacky, you know? A stereotype of what a palace would have as decoration.

Mia didn’t rush – princesses do not rush, princesses do not show any sign of being anything other than the centre of the universe, blah blahblah; but she came to a slow and stop at her father’s portrait. Grandma had told her that it had been made on the one year anniversary of her father’s reign – that was the Genovian custom. Rule for one year without committing acts that cause a revolution, _then_ you get your portrait done.

He’d been thirty three. Mia had been four, at the time. Four, in America, utterly unaware of her birthright.

She couldn’t help wondering what her father would have to say about the situation she’d gotten herself into. What he would have done. Maybe he would’ve changed the law and prevented Parliament from ever allowing anything like this – railroading Mia into requiring a husband to rule. Mia liked to think he would’ve. She couldn’t – didn’t want to believe that her dad would ever make Mia do something like what she was.

Maybe he’d have arranged a match, maybe he would’ve. Maybe he would’ve been fine if Mia never married.

She’d never know. Her dad was dead.

Mia stared at the portrait, her father’s features etched out in oil paints. He looked so different in her mum’s old photos of him – in those, he was always smiling, red-cheeked, an arm around her mum. Friendly, open. Someone you could meet in a bar or a park or bookstore, and have as a friend. He looked like anyone else in those photos.

In the portrait, he didn’t look like that man. He looked . . . remote. A far-off warmth cooled by the lack of familiarity. He looked like a King, as remote as one. He didn’t look like a dad.

But, she could pick out her own features in her father’s image. Her brown eyes, her hair, there was something in the nose and mouth . . . it made something ache inside her. She wanted to be eight years old again, her father come to visit the firehouse she grew up in, holding her tight in a hug. She wanted her dad to hold her again.

;;

Once the news broke, everything was somewhere between an excited buzz and a quiet uproar. After all, Parliament’s decision about Mia’s bachelorette status had only been in the news about three days – and plenty of news outlets and media were still debating about how fair that was, about how ethical it was to put something as important as the future of a country on the hairline basis of someone getting married in such a short time frame.

Even though Mia hadn’t even announced her engagement at the time, the palace staff had begun some prep for a wedding – nothing massive or immediately eye-catching, but Grandma had told her that the butlers had already scheduled for all the official silver to be cleaned and polished, that the designers Mia normally went to for formal dresses had already started drafting wedding dress designs, that the Church of St Amelie was beginning to do a severe clean of the entire building, frantically fixing whatever flaws could apparently be found in a building that was constantly being kept in pristine condition.

All for a wedding they hadn’t known was coming. They were all that certain that Mia would come out on top.

So when the palace officially broke the news that the Crown Princess of Genovia and Lord Devereaux, the two main contenders for the throne, were officially engaged and intended to meet that thirty-day target – June 1st, actually, was the cut-off date – well. You could say the people were something abuzz.

According to Prime Minister Motaz, who’d been in the same wing of the palace when Nicholas had broken the news to his uncle, Lord Mabrey hadn’t taken his nephew’s good news very well. Or quietly.

But Nicholas seemed at ease, in all honesty. Like the anticipation for his uncle’s reaction was worse for him than the ear-splitting reaction he got.

They’d staged a bit of date, the two of them. Charlotte, who acted as something of a public relations specialist – she’d done a double major at university, apparently – had recommended they do something where the public could see them. Where cameras could see them.

So they were enjoying a classic afternoon tea at one of the popular teahouses in the city – _Cosette’s_ , established 1892, five stars, yet somehow not a place you needed to be a millionaire to get into, nor book a date two years in advance, even if you weren’t Crown Princess of Genovia – seated at a table behind glass windows, framed lovingly in that window by bushels of roses and an outside garden area, also by rosebushes. All very picturesque, for that photo-op that would get printed all over the place – _Royal Lovebirds Enjoy TeaFor Two_ , that sort of thing.

Present a united front for the world, and no one goes looking for dirt. You know, dirt like, ‘these two can barely stand each other, met only two weeks ago, and this is a sham for political and personal gain’.

Although Mia wasn’t about to lie – Nicholas was actually pretty pleasant company.

The ease from his uncle’s reaction also seemed to play a part of that, actually – Mia hadn’t noticed the weird underlying tension in Nicholas until it wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t on very great footing with Lord Mabrey, after all. Maybe hadn’t been in a good long while.

Anyway, they had a lovely time, sipping tea, snacking on scones with jam and scream, noshing on macrons. Looking for all the world like a smitten couple enjoying finally being engaged – because that was the palace line, wasn’t it? That they’d met a while ago, around last year when Mia had been between semesters at Princeton, and they’d had a flirtation happening that was intended to try at a relationship once she’d graduated, but instead became an engagement with a very strict prenuptial in place, should this budding romance-cum-marriage go south.

The prenuptial was actually Nicholas’ idea – so that, when they divorced in a year or two, his uncle couldn’t fight for one penny or diamond on Nicholas’ behalf – or petition for Nicholas to be put back into the line of succession for the throne. That was also Nicholas’ idea, having the rules of their marriage mean that Nicholas couldn’t argue for the throne upon their divorce, unless it came to the point of Mia somehow dying without children, then Nicholas could be able to petition for _his_ children to take the throne, but not for himself. Never for himself.

Mia had been a little surprised at Nicholas’ savvy about the situation – it was like he’d carefully considered all the ways he could possibly get himself out of being King, but also to still use his lineage to help the line of succession, should the worst happen to Mia. It was . . . weirdly sweet? In a bizarre and mildly morbid sort of way.

But at _Cosette’s_ , nothing about their upcoming nuptials entered the conversation. Instead, Mia told him funny stories about Lilly back in San Francisco, and her Princeton silliness; Nicholas had a bunch of hysterical stories of his days at boarding school, and his time at culinary school – Mia didn’t know that tomatoes could turn purple if you cooked them with specific spices, but there you go – and all in all, she actually had a fun time. Surprising, right? Turns out she gets along great with a guy trying to snake her throne when he decides he doesn’t actually want to do that at all. Who knew?

It didn’t hurt that Nicholas didn’t exactly crack mirrors when he passed them. His eyes were still ridiculously blue, Mia honestly had to stop herself from telling him to point them somewhere else, because they were distracting as hell, Mia genuinely lost her train of thought while he was talking every once in a while; and there was no denying that his voice had a natural cadence to it that made listening to him speak something close to a delight.

It almost felt like an actual date.

;;

Mia wasn’t unaware that her engagement could potentially cause some issues for the politics of Genovia – well, duh – but she really hadn’t been expecting for Parliament to call a meeting to session. She’s doing what they wanted! Why are they complaining?

The one upshot is that Mia isn’t sitting in – Nicholas has to, and he comes back to Mia after almost every time and tells her everything that was said (which is basically nothing, apparently. Lord Mabrey was just making himself a nuisance and making life difficult for other people), and Mia spends her day with Lilly – _Lilly_ , who Grandma had had get on a plane to come and join Mia for moral and emotional support for the month that was coming up and promised to be a giant mess.

Lilly found the whole situation Mia was in as a source of pure hilarity – when Mia had actually sat Lilly down at first, she’d been upset and angry about Mia’s situation and the fiancé Lilly hadn’t heard a thing about, so now she was oscillating between anger about the situation, and laughing her ass off about how Mia and Nicholas were circumventing Lord Mabrey’s attempts to railroad Nicholas into the throne.

Mia wasn’t afraid to admit – it was a pretty funny situation. Lord Mabrey had an impressive scowl, but she was the Crown Princess. He couldn’t touch her. Joe had pointed out that trying to manipulate a situation to oust her from her own throne – because that was what it had been, what it had always been, the ruling that Mia be married within the month had been Lord Mabrey’s attempt to get Nicholas on the throne, because he wanted Nicholas to be a puppet king for Mabrey’s own benefit, even Nicholas knew this! – is a type of treason, and that is a fact that can definitely be held over Mabrey’s head for the next . . . oh, however many years or decades that Mia wants to hold that sword aloft.

Mia had to wonder whether or not Mabrey was aware of just how precarious his situation actually was – granted, they had no evidence that Mabrey had ulterior motives besides, y’know, _the word of the guy he’d been trying to put on the throne_ , but that should be more than enough, given the character references that Mia knew she could get just from the other members of Parliament, but it honestly didn’t feel like something she needed to push.

The wedding was going through.

The church was sparkling, Mia’s dress was halfway through production, her tiara had been polished to a blinding sparkle, the catering was organised, etcetera.

All that was left was for Mia and Grandma and Nicholas to get through the parade and the garden party and a week, and then Mia would be legally safe to claim her throne, and there’d be nothing Lord Mabrey would be able to do about it.

It’d be a lie to say that the thought of that didn’t make her very, very happy.

;;

It wasn’t even a question for Mia, inviting that little girl to join her in the parade. Inviting all those kids to join the parade – it’d probably get her a bunch of mildly insulting comments on the late-night news about trying too hard to be likable, but that honestly hadn’t even touched Mia’s mind in the moment. She just wanted to give that little girl, Charlotte, something to smile about.

The numerous praises she’d had presented to her, by her grandmother, by members of Parliament, by Prime Minister Motaz and reporters, she’d found it all very . . . performative. She’d just wanted to do something about the blatant bullying those boys were putting Charlotte through, and do something to make the day happier for the little girl.

Singing her praises for doing something nice really wasn’t necessary, but that was the life of a princess, Mia supposed. Doing anything for any reason _besides_ the thanks apparently was the oddity, as opposed to the norm.

Still, the day had been a success, and Mia’d resumed her royal duties without too much fuss, despite the upcoming wedding that the whole country was required to care about. Whatever.

Amazingly, her first attempt at riding side-saddle wasn’t a complete bust, to the point that she’d managed to do her Review of the Guard without making an ass of herself, despite some _asshole_ flinging a rubber snake into the gravel, freaking out her poor horse. Mia’d barely kept him from throwing her off, keeping him calm with a gentle hand to his head and a tight grip on the reigns. But god, can you imagine if she hadn’t? That would’ve been an actual disaster.

Or at least an embarrassment.

Mia did find it kind of weird though, that Nicholas took the time to join her as she unwound in the stables. He’d done the same thing after Mia’s addition to the parade, and her later pronouncement that the winter castle in the northern area would be converted into another orphanage for the children of Genovia. He’d been putting a lot of effort into selling the whole ‘lovebirds’ act, Mia was honestly rather impressed. She wouldn’t be surprised if publications like Elsie Kentworthy or someone ran a couple stories about the Crown Princess and her lover having sweet rendezvous in private parts of the Palace, or something of that nature.

Well, at least one of them was putting in the effort. Mia couldn’t exactly say she was putting in the same amount of effort to sell this. Look, she never took a drama classes for a reason! She’s not a great actress – she can smile in that ‘this is for the photographers’ way, and she can alter her body language a bit to make someone looking at her think she’s happy or whatever, but in no way is she an actual actress!

Ugh, whatever. Look, the point is, Mia’s feeling mildly inadequate standing next to Nicholas when it comes to convincing the general public that she’s excited to be getting married – which, like. She isn’t, not really. Well . . .

Okay, fine – if it weren’t for the whole ‘his uncle is trying to steal her crown’ thing, and the whole ‘thirty days to get married’ thing, Mia would be totally into Nicholas.

She would be!

He’s handsome, he’s charming, he’s an excellent dancer and a better conversationalist – and he’s got that kind of mischievous streak Mia can sense in his personality that’s similar to Lilly’s, so of course Mia would be into him. She’s not ashamed to admit it, okay?

But it’s just . . . it’s all very irritating, that she doesn’t get a choice in much of this. Sure, she could be looking into eligible men that she could have a political match with, and she’s sure she’d find one that’d be willing to do it, but . . .

She’d wanted to marry for love.

There, she said it.

And because of Lord Mabrey, she doesn’t get to. And she’s having a hard time not blaming Nicholas for that, a little bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it’s finally over! This second chapter was so freaking hard to get out of me, but it’s done! Special thank you to the soundtrack of the 2006 Sofia Coppola film 'Marie Antoinette' for getting me through writing this.

The garden event was beautiful, full of sunshine and flowers, the dulcet tones of Rosia Laurente, Genovia’s premier opera singer, filling the air with a sense of utter timelessness – like the world was holding still solely for Rosia until she was done.

Mia committed her rounds of the guests, asking after their families and doing her Princess Amelia airs. It’s not a hardship, at this point, but she does still need to review a list of all the guests and have someone remind her whether or not she’s ever met them before the actual event. It’s the little tricks that keep you from looking like an ass, really.

And then, after Mia’s done her rounds and she’s spied Lilly lounging on the stone bench with her feet up and a plate of hors d’ouevres – _god_ if Mia wishes she could get away with that – when Mia and Nicholas decided to ditch for a minute to take a ‘stroll’ together (yes, that is the actual language used to describe what happened in the media afterwards, Mia’s not lying) in the gardens.

Somehow, they ended up in the same garden area that they’d gotten engaged in – they seemed to end up there over and over again.

Just as when he proposed, Nicholas was beautiful when seen with the backdrop of the garden wall – he had excellent colouring to look good with a flower-garden as his background, and his pale suit definitely didn’t look bad with his surroundings (No lie, Grandma’s stylist had given Mia a whole speech about dressing for your surroundings when she’d been seventeen – pastels look good with greenery, blue pops if you’re going to be somewhere bright like a desert or something). It’s almost distracting, how good-looking Nicholas is.

He’s playing with her fingers a bit, gently running his fingers over the knuckles and joints along her digits, like he’s trying to memorize the shape, every groove and fold on her hand; Mia knows it’s all for the cameras, but it does feel very genuine, very honest, like something he’d actually do with an actual lover. Which, Mia supposes, is what she is to him for the foreseeable future. He’s playing up the little personal ticks for the cameras, so any ex-girlfriends that the media reach out to will look at him and say, _Oh, of course they’re real, Nicholas did that all the time to me, when we were together_. It’s very clever of him; Mia hasn’t thought to do anything like that.

So a little stroll around the gardens was – well, it wasn’t quite _in order_ , a _necessity_ , but it was something that was going to look good: the royal lovers ducking quietly out of an event to have a little romantic walk against the pretty backdrop of a rose garden. It looks good – and if anything else, they need to look good.

Mia was rather content to play along with the ideas that Charlotte and the palace’s public relations team pitched at them – she and Nicholas tended to have a pretty good time together; he was an excellent conversationalist with a way of speaking that was frankly a delight to listen to. There’s just something nice about the way his mouth moves as he speaks, and Mia couldn’t imagine a day she’d get sick of listening to him talk.

Fine, fine. Let’s confess: Mia is attracted to her fiancé. She’s very, very attracted to her fiancé. She wants to kiss him.

Yes, they’re faking this romance – but Mia wants to kiss him.

Taking a waltz into the garden isn’t dissuading that impulse. If anything, it’s making it harder to ignore, what with the romantic atmosphere – Mia’d taken an elective class at Princeton, where they’d studied Jane Austen and her contemporaries, and in it, she’d written an essay on how Austen had put her characters into gardens and on walking paths as a metaphor for the characters digging out time for their love, compared to whatever bustle was taking place in the main setting, of the house they lived in or the city of. It had all been barely-strung together nonsense, but she’d gotten a B, so evidently, even barely-thought-about nonsense can make some sense.

And right now, in this moment, that’s all Mia can think of. Romantic walks in parks and gardens with a beau.

As far as the world at large is concerned, that’s what she’s doing right now.

They’ve reached a point where they don’t need to pass time with chitchat, in this friendship(?) they’ve made for themselves. Instead, it’s more a play-up for any cameras that may be passing them by – or, it was. They’re in the hedge maze now, and nobody is going to see them unless, who knows, the paparazzi have infrared cameras or something.

Mia draws them to a halt in the Fountain Place – one square of area that’s got five separate fountains in it, and a bunch of stone benches. Mia honestly doesn’t get the point of why this space exists, or why there needs to be _five_ fountains in it, but it’s very pretty, and her grandfather’s mother was the one to design the area, and there’s some custom that five generations of Queens have to pass before landscaping designs can be re-done, if it was the Queen herself who designed them. It sounds like a load bull-hockey to Mia, but she doesn’t spend much time in the hedge maze, so she frankly doesn’t care.

But she wants to sit, so she perches her ass on the stone edge of the fountain for a minute.

Nicholas, being a perceptive individual, stays standing, waiting for Mia to decide she can get up again. “Bad shoes?” he asked.

“Kind of,” said Mia, “they’re new, which I guess is the same thing.” She slipped off the heels, letting her toes wiggle a little at the freedom. Her pedicure was peach pink, with a hint of gold glitter when it caught the sunlight.

Nicholas smiled at the sight, moving to perch himself on the armrest of the garden bench. “Want a foot rub?”

Obviously joking, but Mia just smirked, and stuck out her foot, like _if you want_.

So, Nicholas gently took her ankle in his hand, and ran a firm pressure down her ankle and over her foot, paying attention to the ball of her foot. It was _stupidly_ good. Mia only barely kept herself from moaning out loud.

Instead, she distracted herself from Nicholas’ attentions. “Are these events fun for you?” Her fiancé gave her a quizzical look. “I mean, I don’t mind them, but it’s all pretty repetitive, isn’t it? Music, croquet, dancing, socializing, insert whatever event it’s set up for, hand out the award, stroll the gardens. Rinse and repeat, every other week or so.”

Nicholas quirked his mouth – not quite a smile, but something close. He ran his thumb up the arch of Mia’s foot, alleviating the tension there. “Well, I don’t hate them. I do think the standard of propriety is a bit tenser than it should be – feels a bit more like we’re in an Austen novel than a fun event. But I never get upset when I have to come to these things.” He put her foot down, nudging her to bring up her left leg so he could repeat the _heavenly_ motion. “You are right, though. It’s all pretty repetitive, when you’re doing it week after week.”

Mia smiled at the affirmation. “I just try to remind myself that there are worse ways to spend our time. More boring ones, too, even with the whole royalty job.”

“That is true.” Nicholas released her leg. “You’re good at it, though.”

Mia smiled, blushing a little, wiggling her feet back into her high-heel, “Thanks.”

Nicholas held out his hand, helping Mia lift herself from the fountain rink. He pulled a little more forcefully than he needed, though, so Mia had to bounce on her toes a bit, to keep her balance.

Still, there was no real excuse for what Mia did next, balance issues, general lightheartedness, whatever, which was: press a kiss straight to Nicholas’ lips.

It was only a _second_ – okay, no it wasn’t. It was a full on _pash_ , a make-out, there were tongues involved, and arms going around necks and bodies, and Mia pressing way to darn close to someone she honestly wasn’t sure she could trust with her heart. But that was it! A kiss! Nicholas pulled away first, his eyes fluttering a bit, like he was trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Which was fair, because Mia was trying to do the exact same thing.

She gaped at her own behavior, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish gasping for air – “Um!”

Nicholas’ eyes were all pupil. “Uh?”

Mia could _feel_ her face starting to match the red roses on the hedge. “I’m going to-“ She stammered to a stop.

“Go back to the garden party?” Nicholas helpfully finished.

“Yeah! That!” Her voice was several octaves higher than normal, and Mia whirled on the ball of her foot, marching just – _away_.

Nicholas didn’t chase after her, but she saw him later, when the guests were taking their leave to head home. Mia and he said nothing to each other, but Mia watched him blush the same way she could feel one rising in her face. He was handsome even as his face turned bright red, damn it.

;;

Honestly, she isn’t sure how she manages, but Mia clings to her dignity for the rest of their engagement: despite a minor kerfuffle when Mia was reviewing the guards, and of course, the parade, where Mia brought all those sweet children into the event, to the glowing smiles of Grandma and Nicholas, Mia’s made it all the way to her very tossed-together bridal shower. Are all her friends that she’d have wanted to be here attending? No, there was a zero-time notice. Is this a celebration of a loving union and not a total act between Nicholas and herself to help Mia keep her throne?

You betcha.

But, there’s silver lining to every dark cloud: she does have fun. Mattress surfing is always fun. Getting Grandma to sing is always fun.

And it’s all crammed in to just the one night, because Mia’s only got two more nights before she has to get married.

God.

She’s getting married.

She’d managed to distract herself from all of it, somehow. It’s like a sunny day when you’re wearing sunglasses: the big, bright, obvious thing is still there in front of your face, but you manage to make yourself ignore it because there’s a shade over your eyes.

She’s in for the final fitting of her dress, pretending that she can’t hear Sebastiano’s staff mutter to each other that there’s an upside to such a short engagement: apparently, Mia’s weight won’t have enough time to fluctuate to require altering the dress, or provoking a diet.

Which. Well, it’s accurate, but that’s totally rude all over, to be frank.

But she’s standing on the stool, looking at these full-body mirrors that you’d find in any bridal shop that Sebastiano had brought in, and –

And it really is a beautiful dress. What can she say? It’s sweet, it’s elegant, it’s made entirely to suit Mia, and you can tell. It’s not the Disney-princess wedding dress that she might’ve expected to be stuffed into, back when she was fifteen and being a princess for the first time, and there’s still no plan for how she’s going to wear her hair, but.

It is how she’d always thought she’d feel, getting ready for her wedding. A little nervous, a little calm, a bit on edge, but also. At ease. She’s ready for this.

And her mother seems to be feeling something similar, Helen Thermopalis-O’Connell’s eyes tearing up a little when she saw Mia in the dress.

“Honey,” Helen said, “I know that this might not be all that you’ve ever wanted for yourself, but.” Her mum’s hands fluttered around, encompassing everything that Mia _was_ , right this instant. “You make a beautiful bride, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Mia said, her own eyes tearing up.

Yeah. She could do this.

;;

No she can’t. Her wedding is in twenty-four hours, and Mia can’t sleep. Not a wink.

Grandma had sent her to bed at nine, under the instructions of the royal planner, so that Mia could be ‘fresh and lovely as a flower in a morning in May’. Well, she definitely doesn’t look like that. More like a flower that died in the first November frost.

Honestly, she’d have a much easier time of struggling to get to sleep if it wasn’t for the tapping on her balcony window.

Wait.

Why is there a tapping on her balcony window?

Mia pulled herself out of her bed, and, stumbling on the carpet and the pillows she’d strewn on the floor while trying to get to sleep, made her way to the window.

She pulled back the curtain to see – nothing?

_Tap._

Mia looked down. Nicholas was hunching down on the stone. Mia opened the balcony door.

“What are you doing?”

“Did you know the palace guard have a circuit around the grounds every ten minutes? They should tighten that up. It’s a wide gap for potential break-ins.”

“Such as, say, someone scaling the Crown Princess’ balcony?” Mia asked wryly.

“Exactly!” Nicholas answered brightly.

Mia rolled her eyes, opening the door wider, letting her balcony companion into her suite. If she were to recreate a Disney movie the way this moment made her think of, she’d honestly have preferred some singing bluebirds over this. She was keyed-up and tired at the same time already, and she could barely muster the energy to be entertained by whatever Nicholas wanted right now.

Still, better to cut straight to the chase. “What is it?” Then a thought jolted her mind, sending a shiver up and down her spine. “Are – are you changing your mind?”

God – if he was, Mia was so, so desperately _screwed_.

Nicholas’ eyes were dinner plates as he blurted out, “What – no, no, no! No cold feet here.”

Mia immediately relaxed, feeling her shoulders drop from where they’d climbed up near her ears. “Oh.”

Nicholas gave her a reassuring smile.

But that brought them to – “Then why are you here in the middle of the night?” Her tone was pretty unforgiving, stern.

Here, Nicholas gave a loud, slumping sort of sigh. Genuinely slumping – his shoulders dropped from where he’d been holding them, his usual ramrod-straight posture slumping with his shoulders. “I guess – I guess I wanted to see if you were okay? Get some last-minute reassurance, I guess.”

Mia considered, and then sat on the big couch in her suite. She took Nicholas’ hand and pulled him down next to her. “I’ve been better, I guess. I couldn’t sleep, before you turned up.”

Nicholas smiled tiredly at her.

“I’m not – I’m not _not_ nervous, I mean,” Mia elaborated, “I’m ready for this. Just –“

“Not what you expected for your life?” Nicholas’ voice was quiet.

“Yeah.”

“Me neither.”

And there it was. The same page, open to the eyes of the both of them.

Mia slumped her head onto Nicholas’ shoulder in a weird, half-hug situation. Here’s the rub: Mia honestly, truly, kind of _wants_ to marry Nicholas – as far as people to get politically-arranged married to, he’s the best of the options she didn’t look at. She can’t imagine going through a wedding for this purpose if it wasn’t Nicholas who was to be her Prince Consort.

And she told him all of this – and what followed was an hour of back and forth on the subject. Eventually, the late hour – it was two in the morning! – provoked a lot of yawns, and Nick got up to leave. How he was going to do that, Mia wasn’t sure, but he seemed ready to climb down the palace wall.

Mia stopped him from going to the balcony door, taking his hand. “You should stay.”

Nick was confused – not sure what she was saying. So Mia elaborated. “You should stay tonight. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Nick rubbed the knuckles of her hand, warming her fingers. He smiled gently. “Okay.”

;;

Needless to say, Brigette and Brigitta were a little startled to come into Mia’s room the next morning and find an additional person in her bed. Brigitta’s face was so red, Mia thought she’d faint dead away.

Fortunately, they both calmed down a good bit when Mia and Nick pulled themselves out of Mia’s cozy bed fully dressed, mussed only by sleep.

Mia wasn’t sure they actually had any inkling of what her relationship with Nick actually was – shit, Mia wasn’t fully certain herself – but the immediate relaxing on both their parts was kind of comical to watch, just for how fast they did it.

But unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and Nick had to escape out of one of the emergency passageways that her dad’s grandfather had had renovated into the castle in the early 20th century in case of a coup – he’d taken note of the fate of the Romanovs in a number of ways: secret escape routes, regulating the nobility of Genovia, advocating and protecting worker’s rights for the general populace – there’s a reason the happiness scale of Genovia was one of the highest in Europe.

It’s hard not to be crushed under the weight of that kind of legacy, but Mia’s trying.

Nick gave her a kiss on the cheek before he left, while her maids were remaking the bed and not watching. Mia had to try really hard not to blush, and she probably failed, going by the knowing look Brigette gave her.

Mia had enough time to suck down a mug of coffee and nibble on breakfast, when Paolo came waltzing into her suite with his assistants in tow. Her wedding was at 11am, so they only had a few hours to figure out how they were going to style Mia.

One upside of getting her makeup done by Paolo was the fact that he’d been the one doing all her styling, from the very first makeover she’d gotten after becoming a princess – they knew each other well; so his style crew did their jobs – hiding the bags under her eyes, evening out her complexion, highlighting and brightening her eyes and cheekbones – while Mia sipped on an iced coffee through a straw, took small bites out of enough food to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

After Mia’s ‘standard’ makeup-face was complete, Paolo tackled his main objective: how the hell were they going to style her hair?

(Honestly, Mia loves having Paolo be her stylist for this reason more than any other: everyone else in the world could be stressing over anything and everything, but for Paolo, the biggest and most important worry was, is, and always would be how to style hair for the most _oomph_. Sometimes Mia worries she’s too frivolous, but then she’ll spend an hour in Paolo’s chair, and get up feeling much more reassured.)

Eventually (with a nudge from Mia and her mother), Paolo settled on something sweet, simple, and honestly rather nostalgic: he dug up an old photo of that first styled bun from the Genovian event where Mia stood up and declared her intention to be Crown Princess, and he recreated it.

Brigette, Brigitta and Mia’s mum set everyone else out of the room as they pulled Mia into her wedding dress – slim-fitting white satin, cut like a strapless dress, but salvaged with off-the-shoulder white lace, patterned with flowers like the dress she’d worn that first night. Her great-grandmother’s halo tiara was slim-but-elegant and fit perfectly to the decorative braids of her hair, the veil tucked into the back of her head, coming up and over the updo to cloak her face.

Mia got a minute to herself after that – although she did have strict rules to _not sit, not eat, do **not** touch a drink_ – and she looked at her reflection in the mirror, flipping back the veil. The tiara, the hair, the dress, it all sent her back to that first night. She’d been under no delusions that becoming a princess would be simple or easy, but never in a million years did she think she’d end up here: engaged in a political, semi-arranged marriage to someone she’s only known about six weeks, and not ready to run. Ready to do it. Almost – kind of – in the same galaxy, as _excited._

It was with all these emotions in her head that Lilly quietly entered. She’d been put in a silk, periwinkle dress, and she looked beautiful. Mia smiled wetly at her oldest, closest, best friend.

“Hi.” Her voice was small.

“Oh my god!” cried Lilly, “Don’t you dare cry, Mia! Paul’d have to come in here and re-do it, and there’s no time for that!”

Mia laughed, feeling a weight lift off her ribs. Lilly always knew what to say, now they were adults. She also knew what to do – immediately coming forward and wrapping Mia in a giant hug. She smelled like Chanel perfume.

“How much control were you given over how you look, right now?” She had to ask.

Lilly snorted wryly, “Absolutely none. Seriously, Mia,” she pulled back out of the hug, “I’m a girl who loves black, and look at me now.” Lilly did a little spin, to show off the very _un-Lilly-ness_ of the maid of honour dress she was in.

Mia laughed a little. “Yeah, it’s not very you. In my defence, I have no control over that. Or what I’m wearing, for that matter.” Mia did a little twirl of her own, to show it all off, and was rewarded with Lilly’s laugh.

Lilly sobered pretty quick though – this wasn’t really the kind of wedding day where the bride and maid of honour have barrels full of laughs in the lead-up.

“You know, for the six months you and Michael worked, I figured he’d be the one at the other end of the aisle?” Lilly’s voice was quiet.

Mia smiled sadly. “I did too, at the time.”

‘Deciding they’re better as friends’ was the nicest way to describe what had happened between Mia and Lilly’s brother – it’d began so well, the same night where Mia was dressed in the inspiration of her wedding look, with a kiss in the gorgeous embassy gardens, twinkling fairy lights all over the place, and dancing until three in the morning. They’d managed a relationship right up until Michael had had to focus on graduating from Grove High, on exams and figuring out what he wanted from life; eventually ending up with his garage band being asked to tour as the opener for another, bigger musical act – and as Mia got closer to the free time that graduating from high school promised, her princess duties took up more and more of her time. They’d never bothered to rekindle the romantic flame.

She’s friends with Michael out of necessity, now – being more than that would be painful for everyone involved, especially with the events of the last month, and _not_ being on good terms with him is just. Not a reality she wants to live in.

But yeah, that first burst of relationship? She would’ve happily been Mrs Moscovitz, if he’d asked.

Which is why most seventeen year olds don’t get married under their own power these days.

Lilly opened her mouth to keep talking – about what, Mia honestly couldn’t say, but Paolo, her maids and her mother, and Grandma Clarisse, with Joe in tow all came bursting into her suite, informing her that the cars to escort them all to the Church of St Amelie was waiting outside, so Lilly didn’t get to offer her thoughts.

;;

There was something much easier about the walk down the aisle, when everything has that tiny haze that a veil offers. It’s like wearing sunglasses, or looking through a glazed window – all the shapes are still there, but the details aren’t always easy to make out.

Not an utterly faithful description of what a wedding veil does, but it’s the gist of it – no one can force eye contact with her, and she can’t catch someone’s eye and lose her cool.

The cheers of the crowd outside the church wasn’t something she was expecting – well, she knew there’d be a crowd, duh, the airports and hotels had reported massive numbers of people coming to Genovia in the last week, for the sole purpose of watching her wedding, and being in the crowd in the aftermath, when she and Nick rode in the official Royal Carriage back to the Palace for the reception.

But then it was time to face the music – Grandma, her mum, Lilly, Nick and the entirety of the Genovian Parliament were inside, waiting for her.

So Mia gripped her bouquet with both hands – small white roses and pear flowers – took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other.

Seeing Nick at the end of the aisle was a comfort – his eyes were soft, his smile reassuring. It reminded Mia why she had agreed to do this, and why she _kept_ agreeing to do this for the last four weeks. Nick was a good guy. Nick was going to support her. She would be queen, he’d be Prince Consort, and they’d rule Genovia together.

Finally, somehow, Mia got to the altar. She smiled at Nick. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“As I ever could be.”

;;

The hour later, with the striking of the noon bell, Crown Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopalis Renaldo and Prince Consort Nicholas Christopher Whitelaw Mabrey Devereaux exited the Church of St Amelie to the exulting crowds of the Genovian populace that filled the city streets. The open-air landau, the _exquise voiture royale_ used for such events of the royal family of Genovia, was visible to the populace for their beloved princess and her new husband to wave at the people of Genovia, an informal thank-you for their support of their legal union.

Or so the news coverage went.

It was a beautiful day, the sun shining, the streets cleaned, flowers blooming, the scent of fresh pears and pear-blossoms on the gentle breeze. Something out of a very Genovia-specific fairytale.

It was actually rather fun, in Mia’s opinion. Nick kept making small jokes that made her laugh, and the procession was honestly the part of the day she’d been looking forward to – after the adrenaline rush of the actual wedding, before the reception that Mia didn’t know how to emotionally handle just yet. This time around, it wasn’t necessary to halt the procession to include a crowd of orphans and un-fostered children into the parade – although Mia and Nick did spy little Carolina in the crowd, and made sure that Carolina knew she’d been spotted.

It wasn’t actually easy to have a conversation in the carriage, what with the crowd and the marching band around them on all sides, but it was actually a rather fun post-wedding stress-relief event; and given that the afternoon and evening were all planned out, Mia knew that this was the most fun she and Nick were going to have all day. Nick held the hand she wasn’t waving the whole ride, their wedding rings sliding together between their fingers. The metal was warm, when they got to the palace.

;;

Overall, the afternoon was an exhausting one – the reception, although pleasant in personal behavior (Lord Mabrey had apparently decided to pretend he was pleased with the marriage, despite the angry growling and glares that Mia and Nick had been on the receiving end of for some four weeks), there was an underlying tension in the room: it was mostly, after all, filled with the same politicians, lords, ladies and Parliament members that had demanded Mia be married within a _month_ , now attending her wedding day.

The Barons Von Troken were as stiffly polite as ever (meaning, bitter and grumpy and barely bothering to hide it), but Prime Minister Motaz and his wife were perfectly lovely. The guests from Mia’s 21st birthday party had all mostly come back in near-full-force, and Mia, Lilly and Asana got to unwind a bit after dinner, when everything went from formal-reception to everyone-get-drunk-now-this-is-a-party – Mia spied Joe and her Grandma having a waltz on the dance floor several times.

Still, by the end of the night Mia was unwound, as happy as she could be, and completely ready to go to sleep – she’d only had about four hours the night before. Eventually, Lilly helped sneak her out of the reception ballroom, and Brigette and Brigitta got her up to her bedroom suite without being seen.

She dismissed her maids, getting herself out of her reception dress – a white silk job similar to a Regency dress, with a lower waistline – with a lot more ease than when she got out of her wedding dress. Unwinding her hair was the greatest pleasure of her day, rubbing her fingertips over her scalp and letting her hair flop out from her head, messy waves over her shoulders.

A knock at the door. Mia grabbed her robe, slipping her arms through the sleeves and cinching the sash tight over her pyjamas, making her way to the door.

Her husband was behind it. The backdrop of soft light behind her – she’d only turned on a bedside lamp – highlighted his blue eyes. “Is this okay? Would you rather I leave?” he asked.

Without words, Mia brought him into the suite.

Nick broke the silence again. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

Mia laughed. “Well, I’d prefer to be friends with my husband.”

Nick ended the night with a sweet kiss to her temple, and they slept soundly – a platonic wedding night not often seen for royalty that chose to marry each other, and are of mature age.

;;

Her coronation was set for one week after her wedding – there were numerous reasons for this: coasting on the public momentum of a royal wedding, getting Mia straight into her role, the fact that all the dignitaries and suchlike were still in Genovia, among others; the _real_ main reason, as far as Mia herself could tell, was that everyone just wanted to get it over and done with.

Mia sat in the main audience hall, facing the main court area where, honestly, nothing really happened besides public appearances and the official hearing of minor grievances that the Queen had to do every month or so. There’d been a minor incident at the last one – a famer’s chicken had gotten loose and run around the hall, causing a big ruckus. Grandma had had to hold Mia back from her immediate impulse to chase the chicken and catch it, just barely keeping Mia from making a fool of herself, but she had.

Now, Mia was sitting in the same throne that her grandma had, that month ago. The lights were dimmed, and she was just in a slip, her satin robe, and a pair of slip-on heels. She’d brought Fat Louie in with her, and her cat was watching her from his pillow.

She looked out into the hall, imagining that she could see out – out into the grounds, out into the city, out into the country. Her country, tomorrow.

The Renaldo family had ruled Genovia since the country’s formation: 910AD, the marauder Alboin conquered Italy, killing the reigning king and imprisoning his son. Alboin also forcibly wed the beautiful daughter of one of the Italian king’s generals, Rosagunde. As for Rosagunde herself, she wasn’t very happy with her husband, and on their wedding night, after he’d passed out from alcohol consumption, strangled her new husband to death with her own long braids of hair. Given that the marauding invaders were all mostly inebriated, and the prisoners and servants of the castle decidedly _not_ , the castle was taken back within the night.

The prince of Italy, after regaining his throne, was so grateful that he carved out the section of his country that was now Genovia, declared Rosagunde Genovia’s Queen, and later married his daughter to Rosagunde’s son.

Over a thousand years, and one family in control. One of the longest dynasties in all of Europe; one of the longest dynasties in the entire world.

And now it’s all on Mia to keep it going.

Mia looked into the eyes of her cat. “What do you think, Fat Louie?” Mia’s voice was so quiet that it didn’t echo in the empty room. She sighed. “Do you think I’d make a good queen?”

Her attention was caught with the sound of quiet footsteps.

Mia tilted her head to the side door –and her husband came around the corner. She and Nick were at a – a kind of weird place, in their relationship. In that, they weren’t in one, except legally. And they slept in Mia’s bed every night. And they’d spent most their free time in each other’s company for the past week. And Mia had kissed him, the morning after their wedding, even though it didn’t go further. And Mia could swear she always saw _something_ in Nick’s eyes, when they woke in the morning, when they went to bed at night.

But no, they aren’t in a relationship.

Even though Mia’s in love with him.

She can admit that now. She’s in love with her husband.

Nick stopped at the threshold of the door. “If I may be so bold, I would like an audience with your Highness?”

It was a pattern they slipped into sometimes, as a little joke. Mia smiled, gesturing to the audience hall before her.

Nick returned the smile, walking to the front of the audience chair – it was the standard protocol for someone making petitions of the queen.

“What is your dilemma, young man?” Mia asked in the lofty tones she used for her royal duties – warm, inviting, princessey. Just like she’d been taught, back when she was sixteen.

Nick considered. “You are, in fact.”

Mia was surprised. How was she his dilemma? Everything was fine between them – wasn’t it?

Nick took a deep breath, before lowering down onto one knee. His hands were placed on the other – the protocol for the most serious of petitions.

“I am in love with the queen to be.” Nick said, his voice clear and calm. Mia could swear her heart stopped. Is he really-? “And I am enquiring if she loves me too.”

Mia took a breath, feeling the air in her lungs, and asked, “You don’t believe your wife my take issue with this profession?”

“I hope not,” Nick said back.

He loves her. _He loves her._

A grin spread across Mia’s face, and she rocked back into her chair, before immediately getting on her feet. Nick stood, and Mia skipped the steps of the dais, exchanging them for launching herself into her husband’s arms, kissing him the way she’d wanted to, the way she’d dreamt of, since deciding that yes, she was in love with Nicholas Devereaux. She could feel his smile against her lips, and pulled back from the kiss to see it.

Nick was blushing red, his smile dopey and sweet. Mia kissed him again; serious and sweet, and let her foot _pop_ into the air. Nick kissed her right back, and lifted her off her feet, making Mia giggle. She felt her slip-on shoes fly off her feet as he did, and heard them land somewhere else.

But Mia kept right on kissing her husband.

She couldn’t _wait_ to be Queen, with him at her side.

;;

“There’s a Japanese phrase that I like: koi no yokan. It doesn’t mean love at first sight. It’s closer to love at second sight. It’s the feeling when you meet someone that you’re going to fall in love with them. Maybe you don’t love them right away, but **it’s inevitable that you will**.” – Nicola Yoon, _The Sun is Also a Star_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackie Wyers on Youtube did a tutorial for Mia’s hair (the ball in the first one and her birthday party in the sequel), and her work is the description for Mia’s wedding hair. Her wedding dress is the same as the film’s, except without the glitter beads on the lace (Why, costumers? Why?) and a much more slender/lower tiara, because the film’s one just Did Not suit the overall look – the sharpening into an oval/pointed jewels made it look too small for Mia’s head, and the silhouette was weird.


End file.
